of family. Or
again, she might be only an alluring, heartless witch, that helped to
make tempting, and damnable, the brilliant Second Empire. But in any
case, Jacqueline was truly as dainty as a flower.

"It has already cost us enough to gain this New World," ventured the
Chasseur, waving a hand toward the desolate shore, "and we made
Maximilian emperor, but now they say that, that he would--they say so in
Paris, mademoiselle--that he would rob us of it."

"Indeed, monsieur?" There was warning in the look she gave him.

"But," he plunged on boldly, "our soldiers still hold it, that is,
until, until someone shall win it for us for our very own, absolutely.
Ducal grandfathers never did more than that for France."

"Where _are_ you leading, Michel? Please take me with you."

"To a question. Don't you think 'someone' is risking a great deal for a
little walk on shore?"

Before she answered he knew that she had seen through all his blundering
wiles.

"Are there guerrillas there?" she asked pensively.

"_You_ should know. But they say, that out of Tampico
especially----"

She was gazing toward the land, sandy and flat. Once she looked back
with lively distaste at the rocking ship. Now she interrupted.

"It would be fun traveling overland--and _such_ excitement!"

Ney's shoulders went up in despair.

"Oh, my poor guardian!" she exclaimed contritely. "But why aren't you a
reader of the poets? Then you would find something to say to make me
feel--sorry."

"_You_ say it then."

"Why, for example, you might call all the stored vengeance of heaven
right down on my ungrateful top."

The soldier gazed at the ungrateful top. It was of burnished copper. A
rebellious lock was then blowing in the wind, and there was a wide,
rakish crown of rice-white straw. There was also a soft skin of creamy
satin, lips blood red, a velvet patch near a dimple, and two gray eyes
that danced behind the hat's filmy curtain. An ungrateful top, out of
all mercy!

CHAPTER II

A FRA DIAVOLO IN THE LAND OF ROSES

"A haunter of marshes, a holder of moors."--_Beowulf._

The torpid, sordid and sun-baked port of Tampico gave little promise of
aught so romantic and rare and exotic as the young French woman's
coveted thrill of ecstasy. There was first the sand bar, which kept
ships from coming up the deep Panuco to the town. Beyond there were
lagoons and swamps mottling the flat, dreary, moisture-sodden,
fever-scourged land. Th